(I am a teenage girl. Over the summer and on school breaks, I work part-time as a receptionist in a hair salon run by a family friend in a Jersey Shore resort town. It is a slow Thursday morning in early September when the phone rings. I stop folding towels to answer it.)

Me: “[Salon], [My Name] speaking. How can I help you?”

Caller: “I would like to lodge a formal complaint.”

(We have no protocols for formal complaints. We are a tiny salon and our clientele are mostly friends of my boss and locals.)

Me: “All right, how can I help you?”

Caller: “My son, [Name], was booked for an appointment this morning at 8:30 and the shop wasn’t open yet!”

(My boss sometimes comes in a little late, but our limited clientele are very understanding. Obviously, this woman isn’t.)

Me: “I’m very sorry about that, ma’am. Would you like to reschedule your son’s appointment?”

Caller:*ignoring me* “I just don’t understand why you would book us for an appointment when no one is going to be there! My son walked there by himself very early in the morning, and it’s very dangerous on the roads!”

Me: “I’m very sorry about that, ma’am. We have open times this afternoon if you’d like to reschedule [Name]’s appointment.”

Caller: “MY SON IS THREE YEARS OLD! HE SHOULDN’T BE THERE IF NO ONE ELSE IS!”

Me: “If your son is three years old, why did he walk across dangerous, heavily-trafficked roads by himself?”

(It’s a week or two before Christmas, and like usual, my mother has taken my brothers to get their hair cut. Although I’m not getting my hair cut myself, I tag along since we’re going gift shopping afterwards. As my youngest brother is sitting in the chair, the lady across the aisle from him is holding a particularly loud conversation with her hairdresser, who is agreeing with what she says to keep her calm, although he doesn’t actually agree with her at all.)

Lady: “Oh, I just hate Christmas!”

Hairdresser: “Why’s that?”

Lady: “It’s such a stressful time of year! I mean, you’re expected to buy gifts, put up a tree, decorate, and to top it all off, the wives have to cook the meals and host the family!”

Hairdresser: “Yes, it can be hard, can’t it?”

Lady: “I don’t get why we can’t all just up and leave! Why should we have to put up with this dratted holiday? It’s not a holiday at all! We have to slave away in the kitchens for hours, and what do we get for it? It’s a social issue; that’s what it is.”

Hairdresser: “It is hard. I would agree with you there.”

Lady: “Honestly, why people bother. They need a life; that’s what they need.”

(By this stage, I had had enough, as Christmas is my favourite holiday and don’t enjoy it being dissed. Against my better judgement – and somewhat to my mother’s horror – I step in.)

Me: “Excuse me, lady. ”

Lady: “You talking to me?”

Me: “Yes, I am talking to you. I appreciate that Christmas can be a stressful time. You don’t have to enjoy it. If you don’t, then don’t celebrate it. But please, the rest of us love and enjoy Christmas. In case you haven’t noticed, this hairdresser shop has both tinsel and lights up, as well as a tree, and has carols playing in the background. I think I am speaking for all of us here when I say that we love Christmas, and we don’t appreciate having our holiday ruined by someone who is too much of a Scrooge to realise what the holiday is all about.”

Lady: “Well I never! [Hairdresser], kick this young girl out at once! I won’t have her treating me in such a way!”

Hairdresser: “Actually, ma’am, she’s a regular here, and has had her hair cut here every year since she was born. Also, she has a point. You’ve done nothing but complain about this time of year which is supposed to be about love, generosity, peace, kindness, and joy. You have spent the past 30 minutes disturbing our other customers and potentially ruining their holiday season with your miserable ways. If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve only had half your hair cut, it is sopping wet and you’re under the hair dryer, I would have kicked you out myself a good 15 minutes ago for being a public disturbance. Now please, allow me to finish your haircut in peace and then leave the premises immediately.”

Lady: “This is disgraceful! Not in the spirit of Christmas at all! I’m leaving!”

(My co-worker is a tall, thin, very pretty girl. I am about the same height, but I am a plus-sized girl. I am in the middle of doing my count-out, since I am about to get off and my coworker is coming on. We have a customer waiting, so I ask her if she can check her out real quick. After she is done, we start a conversation.)

Coworker: “I don’t think I’m going to enjoy my classes this semester. I really just can’t wait for the whole thing to be over.”

Me: “You’ll be fine. Plus you need to be one of those girls that are both smart and pretty!”

(We both laugh, and she begins to tell me about her classes when the client interrupts.)

Client: “You know… you could be really pretty too if you tried.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Client: “I’m serious! You could be just as pretty as she is if you exercised, ate properly, and lost a good bit of weight.”

Me: “Oh… I…”

Client: “Well your face is as cute as a button! You just need to lose weight!”

Me: “Um… thanks.”

Client: “Do people even say cute as a button anymore? Oh well… your face is still cute as a button!”

(The client walks out.)

Coworker: “Did she really just tell you to lose weight?”

Me: “Yeah. But I’m cute as a button though!”

(We laugh. Now, when we see something we like, we say it’s cute as a button!)